


stripped down to our skeletons again

by cryptozoology (ThatNerdyGirl)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Cute, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hiatus, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, I love my boys, Love, M/M, Peterick, SO, Scary, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, but they're on hiatus, but what can you do, hiatus fic i guess???, it doesn't have the angst of a hiatus fic, joe has ocd, not in a sexual way tho, ok it ~kind of~ has hiatus angst, references to masturbation, this is actually not that scary, this is mostly self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11279091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatNerdyGirl/pseuds/cryptozoology
Summary: Of course, the minute Fall Out Boy ended was the minute the zombie apocalypse started. Patrick doesn't quite know how to handle it.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> uhh h h h h
> 
> edit: made a new pseud for fall out boy fics, keep your eyes out

Of course, the minute Fall Out Boy ended was the minute the world decided to go to shit.

Well, maybe it wasn’t that close, but it was definitely within the week that Patrick cleared his last guitar from the recording studio and gave Pete a longer hug than was strictly necessary. 

When it happened, he’d been at home, staring at the little audio files that had been sitting in his laptop for who knows how long, shoved into a folder labeled ‘private’ because they really didn’t sound like Fall Out Boy. He’d just began to click into one when he heard a weird thud on the window.

He looked up from his laptop, half-hoping he would see Pete peering in, being weird, and tried to ignore the stinging disappointment boiling in his stomach when all he saw was some weird white gunk smeared across the screen. He was almost immersed back into fiddling with his songs when he realized what it was, freezing up with horror.

If somebody was jacking off in his front lawn, spurting all over his fucking window, they were going to have Hell to pay.

He slid his computer off of his lap and onto the couch, and marched over to the window, all of the anger and frustration and general sadness rushing up within him, ready to be blown out in anger at this one person, probably some high teenager.

Patrick peered out the glass, fingers hooked under the sill to pull open the window, and did a double take when he didn’t see anything but the street and the late afternoon sunlight glinting off of the snow. His eyes narrowed in on the displaced snow leading up to his window, and his heart began to beat a little faster once he registered the strangeness of the tracks. It looked like someone had walked up to his window without using their left leg at all, not even in a limp. Like they had just been dragging a dead limb behind them, using their hands to keep their balance. 

He unhooked his fingers from the sill and instead pressed them against the glass, his nose bending awkwardly as he looked directly beneath him.

What he saw made his body go cold, and then incredibly wired, his heart seemingly stopping and beating erratically at the same time.

His left window, the one he was at, was about five feet from the ground due to the little hill his house was on. The concrete of his tiny basement was visible beneath it. Below him, crouching inhumanly, was the most horrifying creature Patrick had ever seen. It’s eyes were missing, flies flitting in and out of the sockets. Its jaw was completely gone, and its tongue lolled along its neck, only attached by a few strings of who-knows-what. One leg was in the crouching position, while the other stuck straight out and to the side, half of the thigh ripped away from its hip, presumably to help it balance while it waited. On its wrist was a wound that oozed white stuff. Its face was turned upwards so that its empty sockets met Patrick’s widened eyes.

His breath stuttered out, creating a cloud against the glass, and he was frozen in place for what felt like hours before its tongue twitched and sent Patrick pushing away from the glass so hard he crashed into his coffee table. He scrambled to his feet and went tearing up the stairs, unable to stop the sob of terror that ripped its way out of his throat.

He crashed into his bedroom and slammed the door shut, locking it and shoving his dresser in front of it with the inhuman strength only the truly terrified possess. After he’d done that, he bolted to his phone, fingers shaking so hard he could barely punch in Pete’s contact.

It’d only rung twice before Pete answered, and Patrick was relieved, because he’d half-expected him to ignore the call, because they hadn’t really parted on great terms, and he really couldn’t blame him, because--

“Patrick?” Pete’s voice sounded so disbelieving that Patrick was calling that, under any other circumstances, Patrick’s heart would have broken with guilt at whatever he did to make Pete feel like he wouldn’t call. But now, he just sobbed gratefully into the phone.

“Pete, I don’t know what to do, pleasehelpmewhat’sgoingon--”

“Slow down!” 

Patrick immediately cut off his rapid fire speech, still unable to control his breathing.

“What happened?” Pete asked, more gently this time and with a lot of concern.

Patrick sucked in a breath, his heart beating almost painfully in his chest. It was almost all he could hear. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me. I don’t know what to do!” Patrick also apparently had no vocal control, because he’d ended up shouting the last word down the line.

“I’ll believe anything you tell me,” Pete said, and Patrick told him, because he couldn’t keep this a secret.

“It’s dead, but it's not. It’s an alive dead person. Its jaw is gone and its leg is almost ripped off and it’s rightoutsidemywindow--”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“NO!” Patrick screamed, even though that’s why he called. If Pete came, then the-the thing could get him, who knew how fast it was, even with the leg. Pete probably didn’t even believe him, which meant his guard would be down, and--

“Fuck you, I’m coming. I don’t know what’s happening over there but clearly it’s ser--” Pete stopped talking, and over his own breathing, Patrick could barely hear what sounded like a news channel over the other line.

“Holy shit,” Pete breathed, and then, with conviction, “I am coming to fucking get you, Patrick.” Before Patrick could get a word in edgewise, he hung up. Patrick was left kneeling beside his bed, his phone still plugged into it's charger, staring blankly at Peggy’s little dog bed.

His bedroom windows faced the same way his living room windows did, but he refused to look out and see if it was still there. 

He shifted until his knees were up to his chest and his forehead was pressed against them, and he tried to void any and all thoughts of what might happen to Pete from his mind. He could try to call Pete and tell him to stop, but some selfish part of him wanted Pete to be there, to hug him and to not be alone while this happened. Besides, he was pretty sure Pete wouldn’t listen to anything like that anyway.

Patrick lifted his head when his glasses started to fog up and instead rested his chin on the top of his knees, returning his gaze to Peggy’s bed. His heart dropped and then jumped into his throat as he suddenly registered the bed’s emptiness. Peggy.

“Fuck,” he said, tears once again stinging the backs of his eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck -- PEGGY!”

He used the bed to push himself up and looked at the dresser in front of the door, horrified at the thought that Peggy was probably behind it, unable to get in. He had just taken one step when a cold nose touched the skin where his jeans had ridden up his ankle, making him jump about a foot.

After a brief moment of panic, Patrick registered the white fluff of Peggy’s head and immediately knelt down, hugging the big dog to him and crying into her neck. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on and he was terrified and he was afraid for Pete but also ready for him to be there with him. He missed Joe and Andy. He didn’t want to look at the thing below his window. He didn’t even know if it was still there.

He was just really fucking scared.

*

Patrick was jolted awake by what sounded like fifteen pebbles whacking the side of his house. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep - he hadn’t realized he was capable of sleeping, after even catching a glimpse of that thing, much less knowing that it was just outside his house.

He pushed himself off of the floor, Peggy having decided to wiggle under the bed and peer at him from there, and rubbed at the bumpy imprints his carpet had left on his cheek. His lights were still off, allowing him an easy glimpse out the window.

It was dark outside, so at least three or four hours had passed since he’d called Pete. Patrick frowned, his heart already resuming its frantic beating. He crept slowly towards the window, crouching so that his eyes just barely peered out from the bottom of the window. It was pitch black, the only light stemming from the house across the street, their porch light an eerie blue. It took Patrick a moment to recognize what was so strange about the scene: the street lights were out. The snow looked trampled around the same house’s lawn, and dark spots stained here and there. If Patrick squinted, he could barely make out the jagged edge of a broken window near their front door.

He quickly tore his eyes away and instead let them wander to his own front yard, and his heart stuttered when they came across a dark figure. He calmed, however, when he realized it was wearing a familiar yellow hoodie, which looked green in the strange light. 

He slid the window up about halfway, cringing away from the fresh scattering of pebbles that flew at him as soon as he did so. “Pete?” he whisper-shouted, afraid that whatever had broken in his neighbor’s window was still there.

“Open your door!”

Patrick glanced back at his dresser and said, “Can’t you just climb up through the window?”

“Your house has literally nothing to grab onto.”

Patrick looked down at the smooth expanse of his house and bit his lip. “Okay, hold on.”

He managed to get the dresser out of the way of the door in about twice the amount of time it took him to move it there in the first place, and he ran down the stairs, hesitating only slightly before swinging his door open and waving Pete in frantically. He practically pulled Pete in by his leather jacket once he was within reaching distance, slamming the door as soon as he was all the way in.

After he locked every lock possible, he turned to look at Pete. Pete immediately gathered him up in a hug, and he let out a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around Pete’s middle tightly.

“Fuck,” he said into Pete’s shoulder. Pete huffed out what could pass for a laugh.

“Shit, I know.”

“Are you okay?”

“I had to walk half of the way here, because my car finally stopped running and all of the public transport systems are shut down already. I managed to skate past any zombies on the way here, luckily.”

Patrick drew away and scrubbed at his eyes, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. “It’s weird to call them zombies. It feels so fake.”

“As a zombie expert, I can assure you, they are, in fact, zombies,” Pete said proudly.

Patrick snorted. “Where’d you get your degree? The Walking Dead fansite?”

“Actually, I graduated the Shaun of the Dead wikipedia page.”

“Very prestigious.”

“I know.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, their recent separation the furthest thing from their minds. Pete flicked on the lights, bathing the living room and hallway in a bright yellow glow. Patrick immediately felt more exposed, but he didn’t argue. He was so tired of arguing with Pete, especially now, when he’s just gotten him back.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, managing to keep the shaking he could feel in the rest of his body out of his voice. Pete agreed, and as they climbed the stairs, he cleared his throat.

“I called Joe and Andy. They’re coming tomorrow.”

Patrick glanced back at him. “I thought Joe was in LA?”

“No, he was visiting his mom. Lucky, too, because he says he’s bringing the old van up, picking Andy up on the way.”

Patrick thinks about his own parents, still gone visiting Patrick’s aunt in the hospital in Denver. He wonders if they’re okay.

“Why?”

“He said it’d take to long to explain over the phone,” Pete said. “He said that he would tell us once we’re all in the van and moving.”

Patrick thought about it, waiting for Pete to pass him into the bedroom before shutting the door. Pete helped him shift the dresser back in front of it. “I trust him,” he said finally, turning towards Pete and resisting the urge to hold onto his hand for dear life.

Pete grinned, and it was almost to its usual mega-wattage. “Me, too.”

Peggy was curled up in her bed, and Patrick pushed Pete over to one side of the bed before crawling into the other, not bothering to change into pajamas because God knew what might happen to them overnight.

“I’m not sure if I’ll sleep,” he said as he listened to Pete climb in. “But if I am, it’s not going to be alone.”

Pete hummed, and they lay in silence. About an hour had passed by, Patrick still incredibly awake and staring at the ceiling, when Pete whispered, “Why did you want to leave?”

Patrick didn’t even bother to pretend to not know what Pete was referring to. Why had he wanted to leave Fall Out Boy? He knew why, it was just a decision on whether or not he wanted Pete to know just yet. Now would be a really inopportune time to make Pete hate him, but also: what did he have to lose?

“I think the end of the world is a good time to confess to me all of your secrets,” Pete said dramatically after a long period of silence, almost as if he could hear Patrick’s thoughts.

Patrick laughed, although the sound was a little thin, and flipped over to look at Pete. His heartbeat picked up a little bit as his thoughts raced. He could confess his feelings for Pete. It would relieve a lot of stress on their relationship if Pete took it okay and Patrick had never loved keeping secrets from his best friend, and if Pete felt the same way, Patrick’s life could get a lot better.

But if Pete didn’t take it well, Patrick was screwed. He’d thought he’d lost Pete before, when they had a giant fight in front of Andy and Joe and Patrick had screamed “I’m done!”, because while Pete thought they were arguing about the chord progression in the chorus, they were actually screaming about the girl Pete had taken to his hotel room that last night. They’d gotten into so many arguments previous that went the exact same way, and it wasn’t fair to Pete, because he didn’t even know about Patrick’s feelings, much less would Patrick expect him to put aside his own happiness so that he didn’t hurt Patrick and his little crush. It wasn’t fair on Patrick, because being in love with someone who didn’t love you sucked dick, and spending months at a time with them on the same bus sucked harder. So he’d broken it all off because it was best. It doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He didn’t think he could lose Pete again. It would be harder than the first time and Patrick didn’t even know if he was strong enough for that yet. It would be harder to fix, because it would be up to Pete to deal with it this time, not Patrick, and if Pete didn’t feel like making the effort….

“Um,” Patrick said out loud. “I don--” he was cut off by a bone-chilling screech echoing from outside, and then the unmistakable sound of his living room window breaking.

He and Pete were frozen, staring at each other, for what felt like far too long. It wasn’t until they heard another window break that they lept into action simultaneously. Pete went for Patrick’s phone, lunging across the bed to unplug it, and punched in the passcode with a suspicious familiarity that suggested his phone had been broken into more than once.

Patrick didn’t have time to even narrow his eyes, because he was busy digging through his nightstand for the small pocket knife he kept in the top drawer.

He listened as Pete called Joe.

“Joe!” Pete shouted, and then, quieter, “Get here now. Change of plans. Zombies are breaking in, please come now!” 

Patrick pulled the knife out of the drawer with a shout of triumph just as Pete hung up. Ignoring his shaking, Patrick said, “Wait up here until Joe honks?”

Pete nodded and flinched as something cracked below him. “He should be here in five minutes, tops.”

They stood by the bedroom door and the dresser in the dark, waiting, and three minutes later, a horn blared from Patrick’s thin driveway.

“GO!” Pete screeched, and they yanked the dresser out of the way with considerable force. They zipped out the hallway, and Pete grabbed Patrick’s hand when he hesitated to begin down the stairs. They trampled down, and once they swung around the bannister, Patrick found himself nose-to-nose with what was formerly a nurse. A chunk of its scalp looked as if it had been peeled off of its skull, still dangling off. It had its eyes, but they had been gouged severely. 

Patrick screamed and waved the knife wildly with the hand not in Pete’s, catching it in the nose and sending it stumbling back. He was still screaming as Pete hauled his ass out the door towards Joe’s van. They were almost to the door, Pete’s fingers wrapping around the knob, when Patrick felt a gritty hand enclose around his wrist and jerk him away from Pete, practically dislocating his arm in the process.

It pulled him close to it, until their noses were nearly touching, and Patrick was screaming as it shrieked inhumanly in his face. Its other hand began to wrap around his throat, and it was still screeching, mouth open wide.

Patrick swung wildly with the knife, and it stuck into its one eye. It screeched again, and lunged towards Patrick’s face with his teeth, the only thing keeping it from making contact being his hand on the knife in its face and the other pressing against its slimy ribcage. He was desperately trying to dig the knife deeper into its eye when he felt long fingernails tangle themselves up in the back of his shirt.

No. No no no no no.

Tears of desperation sprung into his eyes as he made a convoluted attempt to turn around, dragging the first zombie with him. A female zombie was clinging to his shirt, part of its scalp flopping on the side of its head as it was yanked as he moved. 

True, unyielding terror gripped him as he struggled wildly before Pete shoved the female away with a swift kick, and once again grabbing Patrick’s hand yanking him away from the first zombie, leaving the knife protruding from its socket.

They raced the next five feet to the side entrance of the van, and Pete swung his arm so that Patrick reached the door before him. As he desperately scrambled to get it, he felt Pete’s fingers grip the back of his jeans and haul him up the rest of the way. He didn’t even think to blush as he whipped around to pull Pete in after him, his terror still effectively keeping the blood drained from his face.

Pete slammed the door shut and pounded on the back of the driver’s seat. “Go, bitch, go!” he stressed, and Joe peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing as Pete and Patrick were thrown unceremoniously into the side of the van along with more than one pair of dirty boxers and empty pop cans.

They ran over something as the sped down the street, and Patrick couldn’t help the little squeak he let out as he and Pete flew a few inches above the floor as they rode over the bump. 

They were all silent, and only the sounds of heavy breathing could be heard. Patrick took quick note of Joe’s fluffy hair behind the headrest, and Andy in the passenger seat, before he allowed his gaze to drift back to Pete.

Who was staring right back at him.

Patrick didn’t have time to even open his mouth before Pete’s lips were on his, surprisingly gentle considering the absolute urgency he was displaying in every other action. Patrick was frozen into inaction for what must have been too long, because Pete began to pull back, only to be stopped by Patrick grabbing his face and yanking him back.

Pete did not hesitate to pick up where he left off.

Patrick moaned into the kiss, his hands tangling themselves up into Pete’s newly short hair, and Pete smiled against his lips. When they broke apart, they just looked at each other some more, Patrick raising an eyebrow when he noticed Pete’s frown. 

“What is it?”

Pete’s thumbs rubbed under his eyes, and he muttered, “You’re crying.”

Patrick was shocked, and then he wasn’t. It made sense to be crying, as far as he was concerned. “Yeah,” was all he said, before pulling Pete back in for another kiss. This one was cut off by Joe clearing his throat pointedly.

“That is not something I expected, nor wanted, to see today.”

Patrick scowled, ready to argue, before Pete’s fingers threaded through his and he forgot how to speak. “Just ignore him,” Pete said, rolling his eyes, and Patrick smiled.

Was an ‘I love you’ appropriate right now? He was willing to risk it, because who knows how much longer any of this would last.

“I love you,” he whispered, so that Joe and Andy couldn’t hear him.

“I love you,” Pete said, so that they could.

*

Patrick and Pete had fallen asleep on the van floor, which was as disgusting as it was when they were traveling around in it as a bunch of stupid teenagers. Patrick was convinced that Joe hadn’t cleaned since then, either, and had only bothered to remove the seats, which was a damn fucking shame given their current situation.

When Patrick woke up, daylight was shining harshly into the vehicle, Pete was kneeling in between the driver and passenger seats, talking with Andy and Joe, and all he could see out the window was an endless cornfield.

He sat up, only a little bit disoriented. It was hard to be sleepy when zombies were a real thing. “Where are we?” he asked, reaching up to rub at his eye. It felt like dog hair had gotten into it --

No.

He’d forgotten Peggy. She was still back at the house, in God knows what condition, while he was in fuck knows where, safe for the time being. She wasn’t here. He’d forgotten. Pete wasn’t going to pull Peggy out of thin air, she wasn’t going to suddenly appear wherever they end up.

She. Was. Gone.

He burst into tears, drowning out whatever answer Joe had given him, and immediately he felt arms wrap around him and a hand pull his head into a chest. Pete.

He cried into his - boyfriend? - and all he could muster up was a very shaky “Peggy.”

Pete’s soft whisper of, “Oh, shit,” did not help.

“I forgot her,” he wheezed out, and he didn’t want to acknowledge that his crying jag had more to it than Peggy. “Fuck, Pete, I forgot her--”

“Patrick, I’m sorry,” Pete said, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s not your fault. No one would be thinking of their pet whilst running from a horde of zombies, especially if they were being dragged along by their boyfriend.” At the word, Pete pulled on his hair a little bit in question, and Patrick nodded, noting the pleased hum that vibrated through Pete’s chest.

“It is. Please don’t argue with me,” he added, when Pete sucked in a breath to begin his retort.

“It’s not, but I’ll shut up now,” is what Pete eventually said, and they sat there in silence for at least an hour, Patrick attempting to go back to sleep to avoid whatever wanted to come next.

He must’ve actually fallen asleep at some point, because he woke up to the van rattling to a stop and Joe accidently kicking Pete, who was still holding Patrick, as he climbed over his seat to get to the back. Andy clambered after him, and Patrick waited until they were both seated in front of he and Pete before asking, “What the fuck?”

He didn’t bother to lift his head from Pete’s chest until Pete said, “They know what happened, you know, with the zombies.”

Patrick shot straight up, looking at Joe and Andy with wide eyes. “How?”

Joe smiled sheepishly and ran a hand through his wild curls. “Um, because I was almost one of the zombies?”

Patrick was speechless, brain scrambling for something to say while also sorting through the questions that immediately popped up. He looked at Pete to see his reaction, and the other man was also staring, slack jawed, at Joe.

“Apparently, there was some sort of institution researching a cure for mental health issues,” Andy said, because Joe seemed to be done talking, his cheeks a dull pink. “It was private, so they didn’t have to follow the regulations that the government has set up for medicine with a more public access. They were running trials for a whole bunch of mental illnesses, including depression, ADHD, schizophrenia, and OCD. It was a limited trial, so a bunch of people were waitlisted. Joe was on the waitlist.”

All three turned to look at Joe, disbelief clear on their faces. Joe flushed harder and scowled. “It’s hard, alright? If you saw a cure to a disease you’re suffering from and it seemed to be working, wouldn’t you try to get it?”

Patrick was alarmed to see tears in Joe’s eyes. He had to nip this in the bud. Immediately. “Of course we would, Joe,” he stressed, trying to hold eye contact. “We’re not judging you, I swear. It’s just kind of fucked up to think that you were almost a zombie.”

Joe chuckled, seeming relieved. “Yeah,” he said, a little watery.

“So the cure seemed to be working,” Andy continued without pause. “And they were just about to start mass producing it when the patients started going nuts. They started to tear themselves apart, clawing out their eyes, slamming their heads into walls, all that. Then they started to get to each other, and then the doctors, who were trying to find an antidote. If any of their blood mixed with the doctors’, they infected them.”

“Like AIDs,” Pete muttered, because he still didn’t know when to be quiet.

“They had institutions set up all around the world, each with a slightly different take on the medicine. The biggest one was here in Chicago.”

“So you mean there isn’t just one single cure?” Patrick breathed, horrified.

“They would probably have to cater whatever antidote to each strain of the medicine.”

“This is one big fucking mess,” Pete said, and they all sat in silence before Joe spoke up again.

“We’re heading to my grandma’s in Virginia. She lives out in the middle of nowhere, a little bit in the mountains, even, so the strain probably hasn’t reached her yet. All the institutions were in large cities, and they haven’t had much time to move out of urban areas.”

Patrick nodded, trying desperately not to think about Peggy. Pete squeezed his hand as Andy clambered back into the driver’s seat, Joe remaining in the back with the two of them.

“We’re rotating every four hours, okay?” Andy called back, and they all mumbled their agreements. Patrick tried not to think about the fact that the reason Andy and Joe weren’t using the doors was because they were too afraid to go outside. “We have about an hour before we’re gonna need gas.”

“I have some cash,” Joe said, before settling back into the corner of the van and shutting his eyes.

Pete waited until the van was rumbling back to life and nosing back onto the road before giving Patrick a soft kiss. “We’re going to be okay,” he whispered when they broke apart. Patrick nodded and tried to believe him.

“We’re going to be okay.”


	2. clap if you've got a ticket to the end of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, soo, it's been a hot minute, but a lot of it was spent writing this chapter and the next, a plan to complete this before posting, failing to complete that plan because i crave validation, and a decision to post this even though i don't have a plan for a lot of this story. but, here it is, and i hope you enjoy :')

An hour later, they were pulling off into a decrepit truck stop in the middle of a soybean field. Once Andy had stopped in front of a pump, Pete, Patrick, and Joe all tumbled out of the back, their stomachs growling incessantly. 

 

No one else was in the lot, but Patrick didn’t even think to be worried about it, as he, Joe, and Pete were in a three-way race to the dirty glass doors of the truck stop. Patrick couldn’t quite tell if it was their usual competitive shit or a fear of being outside.

 

Pete hooted as he reached the door first, and he sped in, Joe close behind him. Patrick immediately stumbled into a walk after Pete crossed the threshold, a little out of breath, and turned back around towards Andy. “Sweet chili doritos?” he called, pointing at the drummer. Andy smiled and nodded, and Patrick jogged the rest of the way to the building.

 

The door jingled as he pushed it open, and he revelled in the warm air that rushed past him, ignoring the sharp yeasty smell that came with truck stops attached to a Subway. He quickly located Pete in the candy aisle, his arms full of Swedish Fish and other candies. 

 

“Here,” Pete said as Patrick approached, dumping the bags into his arms. “Anything else?” Pete asked, snagging a package of Peanut Butter Cups.

 

“Gummy worms?”

 

“Who do you think I am?” Pete motioned dramatically towards the two sticks of gummies in Patrick’s arms. Patrick rolled his eyes, forcing a small smile. It didn’t feel safe outside of the van, and the way Pete was so clearly trying to put on a cheerful facade didn’t help at all. No one was in the station - it felt eerie.

 

“I can’t believe I ever doubted you,” he said dryly, starting to walk towards the drink aisle. He wanted to get in and out of this creepy ass truck stop as fast as possible. He felt safest on the road, where they were going far faster than any zombie could ever hope to run.

 

Pete followed close behind, and Patrick could hear Joe messing around the chip aisle. He thought about mentioning the strange lack of people to Pete, but idea that something might happen if he did bothered him too much. “Joe!” Pete said loudly, startling the hell out of Patrick. “We’re getting some drinks, get us some chips and we’ll pay for it all together.”

 

Joe stuck a thumb’s up over the top of the short aisles, and Pete took the lead towards the drinks, heading straight for the water bottles. They stared for a moment, Patrick in some kind of weird contemplation about everything, Pete probably in the same.

 

“Do you think we need more than four bottles?” Patrick began, staring at the mass of different water bottle brands before him. “I mean, this is kind of like an apocalypse situation, we don’t know when water’s gonna become a shortage.” He could feel his heart began to pound a little faster at the very idea.  _ Keep it together, Patrick. _

 

“You’re probably right,” Pete said after a few moments, and he pulled open the refrigerator door and began pulling out water bottles.

 

“Wait, hold on, I’ll go see if they have something to put this all in,” Patrick muttered, pressing against Pete briefly and then going off towards the register. When he was a few feet away, he stopped in his tracks when he realized that no one was behind the counter. Huh.

 

He peered around, seeing only the top of Joe’s fluffy head near the back corner of the store, next to the medicine. The hairs on his arms began to stand on end and he turned back once again towards the cash register, making sure there wasn’t some backroom door that he hadn’t noticed. He glanced at the cigarette case, glass over it gleaming like it’d just been wiped down. 

 

He froze.

 

Right behind him. 

 

_ Right behind him. _

 

There was a zombie a mere few feet away from Patrick, in the aisle right next to the one Pete was down. Patrick’s brain short circuited, and all he knew was that there was a zombie right behind him, and that he needed to  _ run.  _ But his feet were frozen in their spots, his breathing shallow, body in some sort of limbo between fight and flight. 

 

It was staring right at him, eyes sunken so far back in its skull that they looked like two empty holes boring into the back of Patrick’s head. 

 

_ Maybe it’s the cashier,  _ Patrick thought hopefully,  _ maybe they were cleaning the bathroom. _

 

A quick glance at the restrooms, doors wide open in preparation for use, told him this was not the case. He choked down a whimper, wanting desperately to see if Pete was still by the water bottles but too afraid to glance away from the zombie a second time. It was standing so unnaturally, arms dangling right by its sides and head nearly resting on its shoulder, its legs--

 

As soon as it moved, Patrick dropped the candy as he attempted to sprint towards the door, but the zombie was terrifyingly fast, grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking him violently backwards, his collar choking him ruthlessly. He twisted desperately around, attempting to weaken the grip the thing had on him, and it let go. He had a split second of relief before its hands were on him again, this time at his throat.

 

He yelled as it scratched at his neck, gripping it tightly and lifting him a few inches off of the floor and towards it, jaws gaping.

 

It hurt so, so bad. His throat ached where its slimy fingers dug in, and his head felt like it was about to burst off of his shoulders. He couldn’t fucking  _ breathe.  _ One hand was scrabbling at the fingers around his neck in a desperate attempt to hold himself up, while the other kept the thing’s face at bay, trying to avoid getting his fingers bit by its snapping jaws. His feet were desperately trying to reach the floor to relieve the pressure on his neck from holding his entire body up, but the tips of his sneakers could barely touch the yellowed tile.

 

The hand holding the face slid a little and his thumb went right into the thing’s eye, and he felt it burst as soon as his nail made contact. He would have screamed, if he had any air.

 

He could see movement out of the corner of his eye, He was losing air, and while that scared him in some, distant part of his mind, the rest of his body just started to slow down. His hands began to fall limp as he lost consciousness, and black appeared around the edges of his vision. 

 

“FUCK!” 

 

Pete stabbed the zombie’s head with a screwdriver. He kicked the monster away and it let go, Patrick crumbling to the ground, legs unbearably weak. He sucked in huge, shuddering breaths, and he’d barely gotten any in before he was retching, his throat screaming in protest.

 

He heard a crash to his left, and looked up to see Pete swing the zombie into the tool aisle by the screwdriver sticking out of its skull. His boyfriend grabbed a long wrench from the other side and started beating the head mercilessly with it, not slowing until it was nothing but bone fragments and pulp beneath his feet. Pete dropped the wrench, stared at the mess, and then puked all over it, gagging at the sight.

 

Patrick wanted to laugh, look at them  _ both, _ but he was honestly afraid that if any more strain was put on his throat, it might just tear open. 

 

Pete wiped his mouth and hurried towards Patrick, hands hovering uselessly above his shoulders before Patrick grabbed them and brought them to his face, squeezing his eyes shut as warm palms met his cheeks.

 

“Shit, Patrick, are you alright?” Pete asked frantically, hands gripping Patrick’s face more firmly. His voice was warbling dangerously.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick whispered, and then he started sobbing, which was embarrassing as fuck. The crying was hell on his throat, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d nearly lost his life to some corpse, and the fact that the sobs were taking up most of his breathing was freaking him out. It was all just one big mess.

 

“Fuck, ‘Trick,” Pete murmured, pulling Patrick towards him. Patrick was still crying, getting Pete’s yellow hoodie wet.

 

“Guys?”

 

Patrick recognized Joe’s voice and tried to calm himself down, sucking in long breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, an old trick his mom had taught him.

 

After he was sufficiently calmed down, he pulled back from Pete, wiping his eyes with the tips of his fingers. Pete’s hands still didn’t leave him, though, his eyes also a little wet, and Patrick appreciated the comfort. They both looked up at Joe from their place on the floor, watching him glance nervously at the mess of brain matter two aisles down. 

 

“I didn’t--” Joe started, before Pete held up a hand.

 

“We,” Pete motioned between the three of them. “Are not paying for anything. We are also taking everything from the cash register. If anyone comes in, we will threaten them with lawsuit because a zombie made it into their store.”

 

“Agreed,” Joe said. He went behind the counter, located the register keys in the messy desk drawer, and popped open the cash register with ease. He grabbed the cash in large fistfuls, took one glance at Pete and Patrick on the floor, and said, “I’m going to get Andy to bring the van in front of the door.”

 

They nodded, and Joe left, the same cheerful bell tingling as he went.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Pete asked again, softly. Patrick sighed and nodded, threading his fingers through Pete’s easily. Their relationship had gone so easily from platonic to romantic that it was a little freaky, but it was kind of nice to skip over the awkward, blushy, sweaty hands phase. It’d have felt like they’d taken several steps backwards.

 

Patrick nodded. “It really hurts to talk,” he rasped, tears coming to his eyes from the sheer pain of using his voice. 

 

Pete grinned suddenly. “I mean, it sounds like you’ve been smoking for thirty years, so it makes sense.”

 

Patrick managed to crack a smile in return, and Pete stood, pulling Patrick up with him. He pulled Patrick’s arm over his shoulders in an effort to help him stand,. Patrick was sorely tempted to tell Pete that he could stand on his own, but as his knees were already shaking wildly  _ with  _ Pete’s help, he had a sneaking suspicion that he would immediately collapse if left on his own.

 

The van rolled up to the building, Joe behind the wheel, and Andy was out in a flash, heading into the store at record speed. 

 

“Are you guys alright?” he asked, taking the other of Patrick’s arms and pulling it up over his own shoulders. 

 

“We’re fine,” Pete said, allowing Patrick’s weight to transfer to Andy. 

 

“Good,” Andy sighed, wrapping his other arm around Patrick’s waist to hold him better. Patrick tried not to let himself melt into the gentle touch. He was so, so drained. “I’m gonna put you in the front seat while we load the van with supplies,” he said to Patrick, and then to both of them, “I thought that we could line the back with blankets and pillows for people to lie on.”

 

Pete nodded and immediately set off to where they kept the blankets and pillows, sold for truck drivers who have to sleep in their semis.

 

Patrick got sat in the front seat, and while he knew Pete and Andy were going to build a place for him to lie down soon, he really wished the seat would recline so that he could go to sleep as soon as possible. Might as well sleep if he couldn’t make himself useful. Joe kept shooting him worried glances from the driver’s seat, which really wasn’t helping his mood. “Patrick,” Joe started, and Patrick looked at him. “I can see you glowering. Just relax. You aren’t being a burden, stupid - just let us help you.”

 

Patrick bristled, because that was  _ exactly  _ what was bothering him. Joe could be startlingly perceptive sometimes, and he hated it. He opened his mouth to fire back a denial, but stopped himself just before he started talking, and a high whine escaped him. That hurt his throat too -- he might as well have spoken. Joe cackled at his pathetic attempt at a protest, a mischievous glint in his eye.

 

“I could say whatever the fuck I want, can’t I? You can’t retaliate,” Joe laughed. “Prince sucks. David Costello? Boring. Chicago--ow,  _ fuck. _ ”

 

Patrick gave him another whack for good measure, because Chicago was perfect and Joe fucking knew it.

 

The van doors suddenly swung open and Pete tumbled in with the most blankets Patrick had ever seen one person hold, Andy following him in with just as many. Pillows were balanced on the top of the blanket piles, and Pete set one cat shaped cushion in Patrick’s lap before he started laying the rest of the bedding out.

 

Andy crawled back out and went back into the stop, where Patrick could barely see a bunch of white plastic bags lined up, presumably full of supplies. Fear inspires people to move fast, apparently.

 

Pete continued to work on the bedding, making little pleased noises as he worked. “This is gonna be really cozy, babe,” he told Patrick, who snorted at the pet name. It was weird to hear Pete call him anything but stupid nicknames.

 

Patrick ran his fingers over the pillow in his lap, eyes blinking sluggishly. He was exhausted and very ready for the blanket nest Pete was creating in the back. When he looked around at the others, they all seemed to be in the same boat.

 

“We can all four fit back here to sleep if we need, this stuff is covering everything pretty thickly,” Pete added just as Andy came out with all of the bags strung on his arms.

 

Pete finished his task pretty quickly and they placed all of the bags full of food, water, and medicine in one corner of the back. Patrick was moved into the back with Pete while Andy took the passenger seat, and Patrick immediately laid down against the edge of the van, curling up with several blankets and pillows. He had to lay carefully in order to avoid bumping his throat, which sucked, but Pete curled up around him as soon as he laid down, which was amazing. 

 

He felt Joe put the van into drive, and then he was asleep.

 

The next time he woke up, it was just getting dark, and they were in the middle of a McDonald’s parking lot. He assumed that Pete’s clambering around had woken him, because the bassist was crouching near the doors with a guilty look cast back at him. Patrick rose up to his elbows, pushing the thick layer of blankets off of him. He was so toasty it was getting almost uncomfortably warm. 

 

“What’s happening?” His voice was a little stronger, and there was only a dull ache in his throat when he spoke rather than the awful pain that’d been there before. He had a feeling he’d been lucky, in terms of how long he’d been choked. It’d only been for a few seconds, although it’d felt much longer. He was already worried about the damages to his voice, even if it didn't really matter anymore in the midst of a zombie apocalypse.

 

“We’re getting dinner,” Pete said, pushing open the doors and turning back to help Patrick up. “We were gonna leave you and Joe in the car--”

 

“With the zombies on the loose?” Patrick blurted, horrified. Pete gave him a dead look.

 

“Yes, Patrick, we were gonna leave you in the van, doors wide open, with little zombie lures around. You’re the bait -- we have to catch them for studies, you know. I’m sure you can understand.”

 

Patrick glared at him, reluctantly accepting the hand held out to him and pulling himself up as Pete hooted. “I’m glad you can still laugh at your own jokes,” he said, moving ahead of Pete and hopping out. 

 

It was chilly outside, and Patrick was only in a sweater he’d pulled on sometime the previous day while he was messing around on his computer. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself while Pete slammed the doors shut, despite Joe sleeping in the passenger seat. 

 

“It’s cold,” Patrick said through chattering teeth. The temperature seemed to be dropping every other second as the sun creeped down below the horizon. “Let’s go inside.” He’d never thought a McDonald’s would look so appealing.

 

“Well, it is December,” Pete said dryly, although he was shrugging off his yellow jacket as he spoke. Patrick started to protest, because Pete was wearing a  _ t-shirt,  _ but before he could speak Pete dropped the jacket over him.

 

It was  _ so _ warm. 

 

Pete’s body heat had made the jacket feel like it was just out of the dryer, and Patrick found himself snuggling into it. He had a sudden appreciation for why girls always seemed to forget their own hoodies in movies: this was  _ so much better. _

 

“You don’t have to give your jacket to me,” Patrick said, wrapping it further around himself. Pete just laughed in response, and Patrick scooted closer to him as they waited for Andy to finish fishing for the money. This parking lot was full - Patrick didn’t know how much time had passed between this and the gas station, but the zombies clearly hadn’t reached this far out yet.

 

Patrick was still jittery with nerves. His whole body was on edge, and he pressed even harder into Pete, trying to somehow relieve his own anxiety. Even the idea of getting inside the McDonald’s soon didn’t soothe him - so far, the only safe place had been the van, and he was eager to get back inside of it.

 

Andy climbed out of the passenger seat and waved the cash at them, and the three headed inside. The very idea of leaving Joe alone was bringing Patrick insane amounts of stress, and the only thing stopping Patrick from running back to go get the guitarist was Pete and Andy’s complete confidence that nothing would happen. 

 

They got into the line at the register. Andy rattled off the four’s orders and Pete tried to beg himself a milkshake. The sheer normality of it all was driving Patrick insane. 

 

The news was playing, muted, on a tv in the corner, and Patrick could see images of broken windows, blood on carpet, and a horrifying mass of zombies around Navy Pier. Images of soldiers in hazard suits attempting to shoot down zombies, and more of the men attempting to herd zombies into an empty prison were shown. It felt unreal.

 

They were standing in line at a fucking McDonald’s while zombies populated most of Chicago. 

 

While he could hear the nervous undertones in Pete’s babble and Andy’s eyes were grave, the people around them seemed fine. Unafraid. Patrick was tempted to ask the woman in front of him why she wasn’t hiding in her house with the three children she had with her, but he felt like he knew the answer: Chicago was five hours away, in a car and without stops. The government will have fixed the problem by then. The doctors will find a cure soon.

 

She would sound sure in the solution that the news was reporting. Patrick wasn’t so sure.

 

Andy shoved a bag of food at Patrick and another at Pete, taking the drink carrier for himself, and they set off towards the van. It was completely dark now, and they were so far away from the city that they could see stars, and the area around them was pitch black. Just staring into the void of a black hayfield sent goosebumps all up and down Patrick’s arms, and he had to stop himself from running the rest of the way back to the van.

 

Once they reached the vehicle, Pete immediately flung the back doors open and crawled inside, jolting Joe awake. Patrick pulled the passenger side door open and helped him out, handing him a burger and some fries. “We got you some food,” he said, smiling up at his friend. It felt like he’d barely talked to Joe since the band broke up, and he’d missed him dearly. While Pete was his best friend, he and Joe had always had a special bond, being the babies of the group when they’d first started out.

 

Joe grinned back, his eyes half-lidded with sleep, and then tugged Patrick in for a tight hug. Patrick melted into it, ignoring the tears pricking at his eyes. God, he loved Joe. 

 

They stood there for a few seconds, hugging each other tightly, before Joe said, directly into Patrick’s ear, “Now we can stop the zombies with the power of love and friendship.”

 

Patrick broke away with a laugh, and even though it hurt his throat it felt good to not be afraid for even a few seconds. “We just have to all hold hands in a big circle, and we’ll save the world,” Patrick said through his giggles, and Joe snorted around the handful of fries he’d stuffed into his mouth. Pieces of potato flew everywhere, which was gross, but Patrick neglected to say anything in favor of keeping the mood as long as possible.

 

*

 

Patrick had volunteered to drive, because he’d been wide awake and the other three had looked exhausted, and also because he and Andy were the only ones to could drive safely while eating. Which was ironic, because Patrick was, in general, not a good driver.

  
He was pretty spacey when he drove, taking it as an opportunity to brainstorm ideas or daydream rather than a time to concentrate and be aware. He used to play a game with himself, back when they were still writing, where at every stop light he would try to come up with a tune to some of Pete’s lyrics in the time he was stopped. He’d often miss the light changing, and had once even sat through the light as it went from red, to green, to yellow, and back to red. He was no stranger to getting honked at, and one of his biggest fears was that someone would actually get out of their car to yell at him.

 

Luckily, no one was out on the road at eleven pm, and the other three were asleep, so Patrick was as free to daydream as he’d like. 

 

Or maybe it was more of a bad thing, as all Patrick could seem to imagine were zombies lurking in the endless hayfields on either side of them, waiting at the edge of the road to jump in front of the van. Patrick pressed a little harder on the gas to comfort himself.

 

“We have about three hours to go,” Andy murmured from the passenger seat. Despite his soft tone, Patrick started, swerving slightly before readjusting.

 

“I’m not stopping, not even if Pete has to piss,” Patrick said, referring to the gigantic drink Pete had begged for and then subsequently downed in five minutes. 

 

Andy snorted, and they rode in silence for a few more minutes before Patrick spoke again.

 

“Do you think it’s really going to be safe, at Joe’s grandma’s? The idea is that it’s far away, but that gas station was a few hours out from Chicago, even further from any other major city, and zombies had already gotten there.”

 

It was silent for a long time, and Patrick didn’t dare glance at Andy through the darkness of the car. Joe’s soft snores could be heard from the back.

 

“I don’t know. But, it’s the best we have right now.”

 

Patrick bit his lip and nodded, not trusting himself to speak without bursting into tears. He didn’t know quite what he expected; maybe some zombie fact he didn’t know that would make it impossible for them to enter the mountains, or something. 

 

“Okay,” he whispered, trying to keep the waver out of his voice. He failed. “Do we know where we’re going?”

 

Andy turned on the overhead light, flicking the map out in front of him. They didn’t have a GPS, and it had taken all four of them to figure out where they were on the map that Joe had kept stuffed in the back of the passenger seat for emergencies. The whole thing had taken twenty minutes. It was pathetic.

 

“We do. We’re almost there, Patrick.”

 

He said it like a reassurance, but Patrick couldn’t rely on the idea of being safe at Rosa Trohman’s anymore. He felt like one big ball of stress and paranoia, and he knew that the others all felt the same.

 

He shook his head. This was one big fucking mess.

 

*

 

They rolled up Joe’s grandmother’s gravel driveway around ten, having stopped sometime around eight for Pete and an unsuccessful ten minute quest to find Joe’s watch, which was still somewhere in the back. It was pitch black, the only light stemming from the moon and the stars, and Patrick was so tense his shoulders started to complain.

 

“Are you sure this is her driveway?” Patrick asked, after a while of driving with no house in sight.

 

“Yeah,” Joe said, from where he and Pete were kneeling between the passenger and driver’s seats, “Her driveway’s something like a half a mile long.” As he said this, they passed a small shack with a tin roof. Patrick nearly slammed on the brakes.

 

“Was that it?”

 

“No, dumbass, that’s just the shed where she keeps her gardening tools. Do you think my grandmother lives in a shack?”

 

They continued up the drive in silence, exhaustion and fear lying heavy in the air. Finally, after about two minutes, they were pulling up in front of a large, cozy-looking English house with yellow light streaming out the windows. Patrick nearly sagged with relief.

 

“Okay, the door should be unlocked,” Joe said, sliding open the side door. His hands were shaking, but Patrick didn’t point it out. “She knows we’re coming.”

 

Patrick waited for Joe and Pete to slide out before slipping out his own door, locking the vehicle as soon as he heard Andy’s door slam shut. “Okay,” he said. They all stood in a loose circle, staring up at the house. “Okay,” he repeated, because he was sick of the heavy silences. “Let’s go.”

 

Joe started towards the front porch, the rest of the band trailing him like ducklings. Patrick was in step with Joe, but he quickly slowed down so that Pete could catch up to him, catching his hand as he did so. Patrick held on for dear life.

 

It was freezing, and while the van’s heater was shitty, it still worked somewhat, so the icy blast was a shock to the system. Virginia hadn’t seen snow yet, but it was still so cold Patrick’s fingers ached. It didn’t help that none of them except Andy had a coat on: Patrick and Joe were in festive-looking sweaters and Pete was in a thin hoodie. Maybe Rosa would have some of Joe’s old clothing lying around, so that they could layer up.

 

Joe didn’t bother knocking on the door, instead pushing it open and motioning the rest of them inside. Patrick could have wept at the warmth that immediately enveloped them.

 

“Grandma?” Joe called, kicking off his shoes. Patrick and company followed suit. “We’re here!”

 

Joe kicked the door shut, locking it, and began to trek through the house, the rest following in an awkward line. Pete’d grabbed Patrick’s hand again, and even though it was difficult to maneuver while being two people wide, he refused to let go. He was romantic like that.

 

“Grandma?” Joe shouted again, beginning to look concerned. Patrick felt his heart sink.

 

Andy’d split off from the group down a hallway, and Patrick faintly heard a soft “fuck” echo down towards them.

 

“Joe?” Andy called, sounding a bit strangled. “Joe?”

 

Joe whipped around and pushed past Pete and Patrick, tearing down the hallway, the couple following quickly. They heard Joe choke out, “Oh,  _ God, _ ” before they came across a scene that had Patrick immediately turning away and retching.

 

A zombie lay in pieces on the floor of what looked like a sewing room, its skull shattered. A baseball bat rested near it. Across the room was Joe’s grandma, sprawled across the carpet and brain splattering the wall behind her. A gun was gripped in her hand and a bullet hole dripped blood down her forehead. A bite mark was clear on her neck, oozing white puss.

 

All of the wounds looked sickeningly fresh. 

 

“Oh my God,” Pete whispered. “Oh my God.”

 

Patrick stood up from where he had been kneeling, wiping his mouth with his sweater sleeve. 

 

_ How did they get here, how the  _ fuck  _ did they make it out this far already,  _ ran through his mind on repeat, a broken record that won’t stop skipping.

 

He was shaking, badly, and he deliberately avoided looking at Rosa and instead his eyes found Joe, who was jerking with barely suppressed sobs. Patrick’s heart shattered into a million tiny pieces, and he swallowed his own lump of tears as he quickly made his way to Joe, enveloping him in a hug.

 

Joe collapsed into it, sobs finally being let out, and Patrick tightened his arms, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in Joe’s ear. He opened his eyes to check on Pete and Andy, who were hovering near the doorway. Andy’s eyes were glued to Rosa’s body, seemingly unable to look away, but Pete had his entire torso half turned in an aborted attempt to bolt.

 

Patrick would have hugged Joe for hours, but after a few minutes the guitarist’s sobs lessened and he pulled away, bumping his forehead against Patrick’s before turning towards the others. 

 

“Can you guys leave me alone?” he asked, voice incredibly soft. One of the pieces of Patrick’s heart stabbed him in the lung, and he struggled for a breath for a moment.

 

“Of course,” Andy said, after a beat of silence. Patrick felt frozen to the spot, unable and unwilling to leave Joe alone with his dead grandmother. Why the fuck would he leave Joe with this?

 

Pete began to walk down the hall, but Andy noted Patrick’s reluctance and gently placed a hand on his back, pushing him towards the doorway. Patrick numbly let him.

 

Andy ushered them out of the room, down the hall and into a large kitchen area. Patrick was hugging himself, and Pete drew him closer.

 

“What do we do?” Pete whispered, looking at nothing.

 

“I don’t think we can stay here very long,” Andy said. “It’s not as safe as we thought.”

 

“But where would we  _ go _ ?”

 

“We’ll come up with something.”

 

“The mountains?” Patrick suggested. 

 

Andy nodded. “Maybe. Anywhere but here. I say we should stay for no more than a few days, just to regroup. We need to sweep the house for more zombies, and we need supplies. We can go into that little town we passed a few miles back and get some clothes and food. You three all need coats, especially if we go into the mountains.”

  
Pete nodded at all of it. “We’ll need to bury Rosa.”

 

“Those wounds were  _ fresh, _ ” Patrick said quietly, and then he squeezed Pete’s hand suddenly, stricken. “Wait. We need to turn off the lights,” he said, and he could feel his face pale. “ _ Now.” _

 

“Why?” Andy asked, although he was already searching the walls for light switches. 

 

“I think the lights might be drawing them in,” Patrick explained, locating a panel of eight light switches and flicking them all off, plunging them into darkness. 

 

It made sense. The zombies hadn’t been bothering Patrick before Pete had flicked his lights on, and then there was a whole swarm of them. He hadn’t truly given it any thought until now, and when he glanced at Pete, he knew he’d come to the same conclusion.

 

“Patrick,” Pete said, looking alarmingly distraught. “Patrick, it’s my fault the zombies - Trick, I’m  _ so  _ so--”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Patrick said, scowling. “How the fuck would you know that’s what drew them in? We still don’t even know for sure. I’m glad you came, Pete, so don’t apologize.” Pete looked flabbergasted, and Patrick kissed his cheek quickly. “We’re going upstairs to turn off lights. Use your phone as a flashlight.”

 

They swept the house, turning off every light except for the one in the sewing room, which they told Joe to do when he was ready. They thought briefly about splitting up into the various guest rooms the house had, but Pete immediately vetoed the idea. He’d said that he would be far more comfortable with them all crashing in the spacey living room so that they can all keep tabs on each other, and Andy and Patrick were quick to agree.

 

He and Pete scouted upstairs for blankets and came back with gigantic armfuls. Andy shut the heavy red drapes tightly before lighting a fire, assuming that the dull light wouldn’t leak through the curtains.

 

Pete claimed the incredibly wide and plush armchair, Patrick crawling in with him with ease. Once he flipped out the footrest, they could lean the chair back until it was almost flat. Andy stretched out on one of the couches, leaving the other for Joe, who had volunteered for first watch.

 

They didn’t put the fire out for heating reasons. None of them admitted that they were too afraid to go to sleep in the dark.

 

“Pete?” Patrick whispered against Pete’s neck, feeling his own breath bounce off of Pete’s skin and into his own face. God, he needed to brush his teeth  _ so _ bad _.  _

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I love you.”

 

Pete carded his hand through Patrick’s hair, and Patrick tried not to purr, because he wasn’t about to let Andy and Joe hear him fucking  _ purr.  _ “I love you too.”

 

A pause. Pete spoke again, just a murmur in Patrick’s ear. “We’re going to make it.”

 

Patrick sighed and shut his eyes. God, did he hope so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i won't apologize for the sap at the end... i need some fluff to get me through the zombie apocalypse.
> 
> i'm not gonna promise a schedule (bc i will immediately fail to keep up) but i CAN promise chapters coming faster than 8 months. i tend to write fast, it's just the motivation to start that becomes a problem.... anyway, tell me what you liked and what you didn't please. i need to be Valid.

**Author's Note:**

> okay but i literally forgot about peggy until the very end and i almost cried when i realized there was no way to save her
> 
> rip peggy
> 
> second chapter?


End file.
